


These are the hands of fate (you're my Achilles' heel)

by may_tricks



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7470195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/may_tricks/pseuds/may_tricks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory wants to kiss Paris but she doesn't want to want it. In fact, she's spent years wanting to not want it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These are the hands of fate (you're my Achilles' heel)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Gilmore Girls or "State of Grace" by Taylor Swift.
> 
> Spoilers: Some passages are drawn from canon seasons 1 - 7.

Paris sneaks up on Rory, whispers poetry in her ear, and tilts Rory's world on its axis.

One minute Rory is immersing herself in a book, the next she's got Paris perched over her shoulder, boasting her familiarity with Shakespeare. Her face goes up in flames immediately, her ears are tingling – someone is talking about her, no duh, it's Paris – and the only thing keeping her from snapping is that she doesn't want her to know she got a rise out of her. Not that she's having much luck hiding that fact, given how tight her face has gone and that her heart rate has picked up worryingly.

Words burn the nape of her neck, rising the hairs there. Rory tries not to shift in her seat, afraid that Paris' ego will swell to a previously unknown severity if she lets on for even a second how affected she is by her presence. How is she reciting a whole sonnet so casually? How has she so effectively crawled under Rory's skin, agitating her with minimal effort, stealing both her breath and focus? For a second, she wonders if she should twist around to give Paris a piece of her mind.

She stops short when she understands how close their faces would be.

Waves of nausea crest and crash in the pit of her stomach at the thought.

Would Paris talk her way through a kiss?

_Probably._

It takes a moment for realization to catch up to contempt but once it does Rory can't believe she's even considering what Paris Geller would be like when she kisses. She doesn't want to think about Paris kissing anyone. Honestly, she doesn't want to think about Paris at all. Horrified, Rory grabs her things and storms away. She doesn't need to look back to know Paris is gloating, having managed to win yet another battle in what is shaping up to be an epic rivalry between them. Rory is officially not looking forward to another two years of this. Maybe it's not too late to switch back to Stars Hollow High.

 

* * *

 

There is far too much mistletoe littering doorways at the Inn.

Rory knows this isn't her mother's doing—at least not entirely—because tacking mistletoe above a threshold is far too simple for Lorelai Gilmore, who would much rather make mistletoe a contact sport. She has never been known for adherence to convention, after all. Given the festive look, Rory suspects the responsible party may have been Sookie, who has gone all out for the special winter dinner the Inn was supposed to be hosting until their guests bailed last minute. Rory can't say she blames them considering the severity of the weather but she also doesn't see a reason for everyone's hard work and enthusiasm to go to waste. Really it's her own fault for putting herself in this position but Rory honestly didn't believe Paris would be in Stars Hollow when a storm hit. She also couldn't believe she was inviting her to stay the night with everyone else.

The look on Paris' face when she accepted may have been the reason Rory felt so hospitable.

This school year is notably less horrific than their sophomore but it's nevertheless turbulent, as things with Paris tend to be. They're even approaching something close to friendship, or at least a friendly acquaintanceship. _Tomayto, tomahto._ Rory likes that they can actually handle being in the same room as one another more often than not, but spending the night together at the Inn feels like they're skating a fine line. Not _together_ together, anyway; Paris and Rory aren't sharing a room or anything. Rory blanches at the the idea, has to shake out the absurdity. She does, however, check in with Paris as everyone is turning in for the night.

“Hey Paris, I just wanted to make sure you're settled for the night.”

Paris looks different than the only other time Rory saw her in her pyjamas. She looks less frazzled, for one thing, and more... the only word Rory can think of is _elegant_ but something about that makes Rory's stomach knot.

“I'm all set,” Paris assures, her hand still holding open the door. “Thanks for inviting me.”

There's something soft in Paris' voice that makes Rory want to melt and act overly nonchalant. She doesn't know how those wires got crossed in her brain but she figures she ought to say something in response.

“It' no big deal. You're always welcome.”

“Okay,” Paris nods. “Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Paris.”

The door shuts without a sound, which should indicate to Rory to walk away now. Instead, her feet remain rooted to the floor. She looks up above the threshold at the sprig tacked there. Why does she feel like she's missing something?

 

* * *

 

Paris has a date.

Rory knows this but Paris doesn't so she gets to be the bearer of good news.

She chirpily informs Paris that she's agreed to go to dinner with Jamie tonight. Paris is suitably Paris about the situation and instantly begins losing it. It's only because Rory manages to steer her back to an unsuspecting congressman – who Paris has a laundry-list of questions for – that she's able to make it through the day. A couple hours before the date, however, she's in full-blown panic mode. Outfits are being tossed everywhere, thrown all over the bed and the floor, and she's bouncing around their room like a fruit-fly trying to escape out a window.

Because Rory's a caring and sympathetic person, she wants Paris to calm down and realize that Jamie is a nice guy, who asked her out because he genuinely likes her. Because Rory's a selfish person, she almost enjoys watching Paris in this pre-date frenzy because seeing Paris excited about something is a sight, especially since she's letting Rory witness it. She even wants Rory's help, which sort of makes her feel important and useful, like Paris is glad that it's her watching her have a meltdown.

Now sitting on the bed, she's no longer in self-destruct mode but is still teeming with way too much nervous energy. Rory tries to quiet the nerves by fixing her hair and talking her through the worst possible outcome. It's at this moment that she considers how pretty Paris Geller really is. She's noticed Paris is cute – she hadn't been lying when Paris had her sights set on Tristan – but it was like searching for something lost and finding it in the most obvious place in the world. To Rory, it was utterly obvious that Paris was pretty.

Jamie's a lucky guy.

 

* * *

 

They reek of alcohol and poor life choices.

Madeline and Louise are infinitely better at this whole Spring Break thing, which is fine by Rory, who would rather be in her cold and damp dorm in New Haven than just about anywhere else right now. Beside her, Paris is sympathizing. As they lament their attempt at being average college kids on vacation, Rory can't stop thinking about the tipping point of the evening: the kiss. Paris had grabbed her and kissed her right in the middle of the dance-floor. She smelled of cigarettes even though she didn't smoke and she tasted like burning liquor instead of coffee or chap-stick or anything remotely Paris-esque. She did feel like Paris though: the exact middle-ground between anxiety and exhilaration.

Shock came first, a bolt of lightning flashing in her mind.

Frustration followed, rocking her foundation like thunder.

She pulled away, shouting because it was all she could think to do. Their night turned out to be a disaster, her lips were tingling, and she had the incredible impulse to run. Paris had tried to explain but she may as well have been speaking tongues for how well Rory was understanding the situation.

_"Your thinking is very very dangerous."_

All Rory could feel was Paris grabbing her, her grip on her face, and the force of her lips. It was too much, sending Rory into a tailspin of emotion that she was woefully unequipped for. She wanted to yell some more, ask Paris exactly why she thought that opening Pandora's Box in the middle of a club was a good idea, and how she'd think it'd be okay to ask about criticism on her technique. She felt horribly out of place, a level of awkwardness she'd never reached until tonight, and she wanted nothing more than go back to that rainy day in their dorms so she could convince Paris that going somewhere sunny for break was overrated.

A kiss isn't supposed to be like that.

On the beach, wrapped in towels, they agree to take the next flight home once they're able to get up without their legs failing them. They're both still drunk enough that walking will undoubtedly prove fruitless, something her mother would surely find hilarious if she were here to witness her only daughter getting sloshed at some stupid party. Her mother would likely find the Paris thing hilarious too, or incomprehensibly bizarre. Either or.

 _“Hey mom, guess who I made out with on Spring Break?”_ Rory would ask once she got hold of a telephone.

 _“Oh! Tell me, tell me, tell me! Lorelai Lee Gilmore, you give me all the dirty details right this second!”_ Her mom would demand, getting an unimpressed _“ew”_ from Rory in return.

_“Paris, mom. I made out with Paris.”_

Then her mom would have a stroke, probably.

It's not that her mom would be torn up about the fact that Rory kissed a girl – although that would definitely open a can of worms Rory doesn't even want to think about – but more that it was Paris of all people. The theatrics would be through the roof and she'd never hear the end of it.

Cold and wet – wasn't the whole point of this trip to get away from this? – Rory's back spasms with a shiver. With one arm, Paris encircles Rory's shoulders. She can feel a tremor run through Paris too, convincing herself that it's nothing at all. Their heads rest against one another while Paris rubs her arm to warm her up. Keeping her arms bound against herself, Rory drops her head to Paris' shoulder; she can feel Paris' breath on her hair.

She wants a do-over. She's not sure why. To prove she's a good kisser? To show Paris it's not a big deal like she made it out to be? To know that this time it wouldn't be because Paris wanted to check off some meaningless box on “things to do before graduation” but because it made sense?

“Are you ready to go?” Paris asks.

“Yeah, let's get out of here.”

Rory leaves her questions on the sand, waiting for the tide to take them away.

 

* * *

 

Rory actually _misses_ Paris.

Sometimes at her grandparents' house things feel almost too still. She wonders what she would be doing right this second if she were still living with Paris, which is ridiculous because chances are she'd be sleeping anyway. On nights like these, Rory tries to come up with reasons not to miss her. It seems mean but it's that or she reached for the phone for the sixth time tonight.

  * Paris hogs the shower in the morning, stealing all the hot water.
  * Paris is obsessively organized even though Rory's always been neat, it's no match for the machine that is Paris Geller on a cleaning mission.
  * Paris barges into rooms unannounced and with alarming frequency.
  * She adds things to the grocery list last minute.



Even as she stacks these surely unforgivable crimes up in her mind, Rory can't deny that the list doesn't compare to all the things she misses.

  * Paris remembering how she takes her coffee.
  * Paris picking things up for Rory because she was out anyway and who doesn't need an extra package of multi-coloured Post-It notes and highlighters?
  * Her Yale sweater that Rory liked to wear around because she could never find her own (she thinks maybe she forgot it at her mom's house but it could be buried somewhere).
  * Staying up with her at all hours of the night, acting like she was put out by Paris' weird late night activities but fighting yawns because she wanted a few more minutes with her.



Rory falls asleep with the cordless phone in her bed.

 

* * *

 

Finals kicked their asses.

On the living room floor, she and Paris are spread out with a half empty box of Cheerios between them – they already ate all the leftover take out and neither felt like cooking. It's almost 4am, she'll have to drive back to Stars Hollow in a few hours, but for now Rory's watching shadows stretch over their ceiling. Paris' breathing is deep and even, she's not talking in her sleep for once, and Rory can see her chest rising and falling from the corner of her eye. They were both home by 8pm, ordered in as much Chinese as they could handle, and watched reruns of something mindless, peppering in conversation about how they managed to survive the fresh Hell that were final exams.

Paris fell asleep hours ago, making up for the sleep schedule she royally fucked up these past couple of weeks. Rory's been in and out sporadically for hours. She's excited to go back home for the winter holiday; she misses everyone and everything so much it aches sometimes. Things are different though, in a way that seems out of reach for Rory, who wants to understand. Maybe this is a part of growing up that no one ever told her about.

She casts a look at Paris, who remains dead to the world. In the morning Paris will board a plane to Portugal and won't return home until three days before next semester. In between marathon study sessions she managed to work out a system for optimizing her time before classes resume. Three days is hardly enough to satisfy Paris though, someone who would likely prefer to spend her break getting ready for school to start back up, but she makes do all the same.

Some things never change.

Rory supposes that she and Paris fall under that category too. Her mind wanders to the paradox that is her relationship with Paris. In the six years they've been a part of each others' lives they still bicker constantly, grating every last nerve, and they're as competitive as ever. But they're closer than ever before, more than asking for dating tips and having study sleepovers. They live together now, which means a whole host of things that Rory never imagined would be a part of her life. She remembers what kind of peanut butter Paris likes to keep on hand in the cupboard (smooth), Paris does all the chores Rory abhors (she hasn't cleaned a garbage can since living together), and they have both their schedules memorized (Paris' idea about a so-called necessary safety measure). It's strange how their lives overlap more and more lately, like shades of colour shifting seamlessly.

Sacrificing her blanket, Rory lets it billow then fall over Paris. She doesn't move to fix it but she doesn't go to her own bed either.

 

* * *

 

“I took one of Paris that you can give her.”

Rory and her mother are sifting through graduation pictures. It seems like her parents and grandparents captured the ceremony frame-by-frame. There's dozens of photos of people who are not Rory and then even more with Rory in them. She didn't remember posing for that many pictures but the proof is staring back at her from glossy paper. There's even one of her and Paris.

“What's this?” Rory laughs, pointing at the smiling image of her grandparents posing with Paris.

“Your grandfather suggested it,” Lorelai teases. “Emily and Richard _adore_ Paris.”

Paris looks like she really fits there, bracketed by Rory's family.

“Somehow I see it.”

“You make sure she gets these copies, got it?”

“I think I can handle it, I mean not for nothing but I think college prepared me for this.”

“Did you take a class on it?”

“On delivering pictures?”

“Yes on delivering pictures.”

“No, I did not take a class on delivering pictures.”

“Then how do we know you're well enough trained?”

“I'm making a delivery, can I borrow the car?” Rory asks. Lorelai dangles the keys in front of her. She gets up from the table but stops to kiss her mother on the cheek. “I'll see you at home.”

Lorelai waves goodbye, taking another sip of her coffee as the door to Luke's closes behind her. Rory waves back with the hand not holding the pictures then climbs into the vehicle. On a whim she decides to ditch the post office in favour of driving out to New Haven, even though it'll take about an hour to commute in good traffic.

By the time she makes it back to the apartment most everything is packed up. Paris is standing in the centre of the wreckage with her hands on her hips, surveying the damage.

“Special delivery for Paris Geller.”

Paris turns around, confusion underscored by happiness.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have a delivery, you see. I don't announce myself like that for fun.”

“Very funny, Dave Chapelle. What is it?”

“Graduation photos.”

“You came all the way from the boonies to give me those? You have my address and email, you could've sent them.”

“One of these days you're going to have to start calling it Stars Hollow.”

“Over my dead body,” Paris snorts, following Rory to the kitchen counter.

They review the photos together, commenting on everything from the caps and gowns to the weather that afternoon. After they sort the pictures into their own piles to keep, they're left with the inevitable goodbye that's making Rory wish she'd sent the photos instead.

“You meant what you said, right?”

“Hmm?”

“At graduation you said that this isn't over.”

Suddenly shy, Rory feels fifteen again.

“You're always going to be a part of my life, Paris. I wouldn't recognize it without you.”

Paris nods, swallows, hesitates.

“I'm really glad to be a part of it. I'm glad you're a part of mine.”

Paris' words echo in the empty apartment. The reverberation sparks something in Rory, who can feel her lips pressing against Paris' then Paris kissing back.

“Why did you do that?”

Rory has half a dozen reasons but none are as true as _I needed to._

“You kissed me in freshman year at that party.”

“So this is you levelling the playing field?”

“Something like that,” Rory agrees.

“I kissed you during Romeo and Juliet though.”

“Right?”

“I'm still one ahead of you then. We're 2:1 right now.”

She meets Paris' lips, punctuating her sentence with a kiss.

That night Rory comes home with her lips warm and smiling.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and have a beautiful day! :)


End file.
